


Ignored Instinct

by caelondian



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics Advance
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelondian/pseuds/caelondian
Summary: Marche rights injustice at the cost of his anonymity.





	Ignored Instinct

Marche was still a little nervous so close to the Palace. The bounty was still around, and even if people stopped noticing as much that didn't mean that people had forgotten about it. Montblanc said not many people knew what he looked like, so he relaxed. A little.

Marche held their gift, the Lugaborg, with him. Odd is the best word to describe it, and he really believed it to be the best gift to the royal family. It was a tiny machine man, almost like a little pet, that any children of the Queen could play with. It almost bothered him a little that it was a bargaining chip and not in earnest. But he admired Nono's craftsmanship and replacement of the missing materite with orichalcum. He poked the little machine and it wiggled and coughed, sputtering some noxious fumes from a place Marche couldn't see.

Marche was not paying attention as Montblanc tapped him, hearing some raised voices from across the courtyard.

"Marche, look!"

When Marche snapped out of his trance on the Lugaborg, he glanced up to see at the far end of the courtyard was a feeble hume family presenting a materite-free gift. A woven basket full of fruits and cheeses, and what appeared to be wine, was being callously shaken about by the Palace guard.

Marche stood up, leaving the Lugaborg behind, and briskly striding toward the scene.

"Come on, Montblanc."

As they got closer, they could hear more.

"Please, sir," came the woman's voice, a white mage in profession, "We don't have much, but we must have an audience with the Queen!"

"This is tripe," came the cruel guard's voice, "The royal family has no need for trifles such as these!"

"That is Giza's finest mule cheese and Gradeus wine!" came an indignant man's voice, a soldier, the white mage's wife.

"Never heard of them," the guard spat.

"It's imperative to see the Queen," the white mage wife pleaded, "We greatly need help in the fields of Giza where a hoard of red caps have wreaked havoc on our bannock crop!"

"That's your bloody problem," the guard said, and snatched a ripe, red apple from the basket and nearly bit into it when Marche's sword came down on the guard's wrist. The gauntlet-less guard dropped the apple as he withdrew his arm in pain. He looked up to see Marche, angry-faced, with Montblanc running up, followed by the tiny metal man jogging floppily behind.

"What is the meaning of this!?" the guard sputtered, enraged.

Montblanc felt a little chagrined, especially after Marche's original fear of being spotted. It was being ruined by chivalry, but Marche felt a new confidence.

"These people deserve an audience, just like everyone else," Marche calmly said.

"Boy, if you think you are doing something heroic, you are mistaken!" the guard snapped, "No one assaults a Palace guard without severe repercussion!"

"Let them in," Marche responded.

Then there was silence. Montblanc just stared, hoping he wouldn't have to pull out his magic, and the couple stood wide-eyed staring at Marche, frozen. The basket was on the ground, forgotten, and the apple had innocently rolled a few feet away. Marche glared firmly and the guard, his face twisted with rage, slowly brought his hand down to his side where his sword rested. He used his thumb to push the sword from the hilt, but with lightning reflexes, Marche tilted his sword the opposite direction and smashed its hilt into the guard's face.

The couple gasped, and Montblanc's mouth shot open, as the indented bridge on the guard's face leaked blood and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Marche!!" Montblanc cried, "You shouldn't have done that, kupo!"

"I-I'm sorry Montblanc," Marche sputtered, "I couldn't help it. How can the Palace do this to its people!?"

The feeling inside Marche was something he may have never felt, if he had never come to Ivalice. Ritz was right — it was changing him. It was an exhilarating feeling...until he remembered the consequences that came with causing a stir.

"Thank you," the white mage said, "it was very sweet of you...even though violence wasn't necessary."

"I'm sorry," Marche replied, but was quickly cut off by the soldier, the white mage's husband.

"Nonsense, boy! That guard was completely out of line," he replied, then scooped up the apple, placing it in the basket, and hoisted it up altogether.

"I thank you for your actions," he told Marche. Then he looked to his wife, nodded to Marche and Montblanc, then promptly walked into the Great Hall that the guard had been protecting.

"Marche, why did you do this?" Montblanc asked softly as Marche turned around, having watched the couple leave. "Please don't tell me you risked the bounty's fall for a little bit of justice, kupo."

"No, it wasn't just that," Marche replied.

He watched the Lugaborg shudder behind Montblanc's tiny leg, then picked it up to take care of it again. Although he would never belittle Nono's craft, he felt ashamed something so pricey and crafted would win instant points against something from the heart, like the couple's basket of goods they created with their hands and the earth.

"I can't let the Palace get away with things anymore. They've been messing with me since I got here. And they'll just keep going if someone doesn't stop them. Did you see those poor people? They need help and that stupid guard wouldn't even let them in because their gift...wasn't made of metal."

Quickly, Marche's enthusiasm of justice faded. Then he just felt ashamed. Montblanc frowned sympathetically, patting Marche on his shoulder.

"Is that what this is about, kupo? The materite? Your brother, kupo?"

Piercing and loaded though his question was, Marche just stayed silent, and nodded to Montblanc, telling him they should go back to the queue and wait their turn to be seen. He did secretly hope the guard wouldn't remember his face, but if he did get caught, he was going to assume someone else was going to beat the guard to it.


End file.
